woman's features. That she was old was obvious but all was obscured save, by the lightning's illumination, the glimpse of white, rain-soaked hair, plastered to her face.
'Who are you?' demanded Fidelma.
'It matters not. Go no further, if you value life!'
Fidelma raised an eyebrow in surprise at this response.
'What threat do you make, old woman?' she commanded harshly.
'I make no threats, lady,' cackled the crone. 'I merely warn you. Death has settled in that grim palace yonder. Death will encompass all who go there. Leave this miserable place, if you value life!'
A sudden flash and roll of thunder momentarily distracted Fidelma as she tried to still her skittish mount. When she turned back, the old woman had disappeared. Fidelma compressed her lips and gave an inward shrug. Then she turned her horse along the track, up to the gates of the palace of the kings of Muman. Twice more she was challenged in her ascent and each time, at her reply, the warriors let her through with signs of respect.
A stable lad came running forward to take her horse as she finally slid from her mount in the stone-flagged courtyard, which was illuminated by oscillating lanterns, dancing with mysterious motions in the wind. Fidelma paused only to pet her horse on its muzzle and remove her leather saddle bag before striding hurriedly toward the main door of the building. It opened to receive her before she could knock upon it.
Inside she was in a large hall, warmed by a great roaring fire in a central hearth almost as big as a small room. The hall was filled with several people who turned to look at her and whisper among themselves. A servant came forward to take her bag and help her remove her traveling cloak. She shook the rain-sodden garment from her shoulders and hurried forward to warm herself at the fire. A second servant had, so the first told her, departed to inform her brother, Colgu, that she had arrived.
Of the people who stood about in the great hall of the palace, examining her drenched figure with curiosity, Fidelma saw no friendly familiar face. There was an air of studied solemnity in the hall. In fact, Fidelma caught a deeper air of melancholy about the place. Even an atmosphere of hostility. A dour-faced religious, with hands clasped as if in ostensive prayer, was standing to one side of the fire.
'God give you a good day, brother,' Fidelma greeted him with a smile, attempting to strike up a conversation. 'Why are there so many long faces in this place?'
The monk turned and stared hard at her, his face seeming to grow even more lugubrious.
'Surely you do not expect merry-making at such a time as this, sister?' he sniffed reprovingly and turned away before she could demand a further explanation.
Fidelma stood bewildered for a moment before glancing around in an attempt to find a more communicative soul.
She found a thin-faced man staring arrogantly at her. As she raised her eyes to meet his haughty examination, a chord of memory struck. Before she could articulate it, the man had walked across to her.
'So, Fidelma of Kildare,' his voice was brittle and without warmth, 'your brother, Colgu, has sent for you, has he?'
Fidelma was puzzled by his unfriendly tone but she responded with a smile of greeting as she identified the man.
'I recognize you as Forbassach, Brehon to the king of Laigin. What are you doing so far away from Fearna?'
The man did not return her smile.
'You have a good memory, Sister Fidelma. I have heard of your deeds at the court of Oswy of Northumbria and the service you performed in Rome. However, your talent will avail this kingdom naught. The judgment will not be impeded by your clever reputation.'
Fidelma found her smile of greeting frozen for a moment. It was as if she had been addressed in an unfamiliar language and she tried to prevent the look of incomprehension spreading on her features. Brehon Morann of Tara had warned that a good advocate should never let an adversary know what they were thinking and certainly Forbassach was indicating that, somehow, he was her adversary; though in what matter she could not begin to guess.
'I am sure, Forbassach of Fearna, that your statement is profound but I have no understanding of it,' she replied slowly, allowing her smile to relax a little.
Forbassach's face reddened.
'Are you being insolent with me, sister? You are Colgu's own sister and yet you pretend…'
'Your pardon, Forbassach.'
A quiet, masculine voice interrupted the tones of anger that were building in the voice of the Brehon.
Fidelma glanced up. At her side was a young man, about her own age. He was tall, nearly six feet in height, dressed in the manner of a warrior. He was cleanshaven, with dark, curly hair, and he seemed ruggedly handsome at first glance. His features were agreeable and attractive. She had no time for a more careful appraisal. She noticed that he wore a necklet of twisted gold, worked with ornate embellishments, which showed him to be a member of the Order of the Golden Collar, the elite bodyguards of the kings of Muman. He turned to her with a pleasant smile.
'Your pardon, Sister Fidelma. I am instructed to bid you welcome to Cashel and bring you to your brother at once. If you will be so good as to follow me… ?'
She hesitated but Forbassach had turned away scowling toward a small group who stood muttering and casting glances in her direction. Fidelma was perplexed. But she dismissed the matter and began to follow the young warrior across the paved hall, hurrying slightly to keep up with his leisurely but lengthy pace.
'I do not understand, warrior.' She gasped a little in her effort to keep level. 'What is Forbassach of Fearna doing here? What makes him so petulant?'
The warrior made a sound suspiciously like a disparaging sniff.
'Forbassach is an envoy from the new king of Laigin, young Fianamail.'
'It does not explain his disagreeable greeting nor does it explain why everyone is so mournful. Cashel used to be a palace filled with laughter.'
The warrior looked uncomfortable.
'Your brother will explain how matters stand, sister.'
He reached a door but before he could raise his hand to knock it was flung open.
'Fidelma!'
A young man came hurrying forward through the doorway. It was obvious to even the most cursory examination that he and Fidelma were related. They shared the same tallness of build, the same red hair and changeable green eyes; the same facial structure and indefinable quality of movement.
Brother and sister embraced with warmth. They broke apart breathlessly and held each other at arm's length, critically examining one another.
'The years have been good to you, Fidelma,' observed Colgu with satisfaction.
'And to you, brother. I was anxious when I received your message. It has been many years since I was last in Cashel. I feared some mishap might have befallen you. Yet you look hale and hearty. But those people in the great hall, why are they so grim and melancholy?'
Colgu mac Failbe Fland drew his sister inside the room, turning to the tall warrior: 'I will send for you later, Cass,' he said, before following Fidelma into the chamber. It was a reception room with a fire smoldering in a corner. A servant came forward bearing a tray on which were two goblets of mulled wine; the heat from them was causing little wisps of steam to rise from the hot liquid. Having placed the tray on a table, the servant unobtrusively withdrew while Colgu motioned Fidelma to a chair in front of the fire.
'Warm yourself after your long journey from Kildare,' Colgu instructed, as the thunder still rumbled outside. 'The day is still angry with itself,' he observed, taking one of the goblets of mulled wine and handing it to his sister.
Fidelma grinned mischievously as she took the goblet and raised it.
'Indeed, it is. But let us drink to better days to come.'
